


Sherlock's Moving Castle

by the_fairly_queen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, John is Sophie, M/M, Sherlock is Howl, everything is Confusing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2567471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_fairly_queen/pseuds/the_fairly_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John is cursed, Sherlock is a crime-solving Wizard, and they're both a little oblivious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. in which John's history is hinted at, and he is paid a visit.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating the tags as I write- hopefully this'll still be up people's alley when I'm done! 
> 
> I don't have a Britpicker or any sort of beta as yet, but I'll try my best to find one. (if you want to volunteer...)

It is well known in the land of Ingary, where magic is a part of life, that a soldier who comes home in one piece is a lucky man. Every man who fights and wins has skill, of course, no doubt about that, but there must be something on your side if you survive a war.

John Watson knew he was doubly lucky, and his scars were proof of it. He did well enough, cleaning up the town bakery in the evenings after it closed, and coming home to live with his sister, Harry ("Don't call me Harriet, for God's sake"), who was not quite the drunk of Market Chipping but seemed to work up to that title every day.

It was, in fact, one of Harry's favorite holidays the day that John's adventures began.

May Day was certainly the most exciting holiday in Market Chipping, and by the time John walked to the bakery to clean up, most everyone but him was a little drunk and overall happy to be alive. He unlocked the door and stepped in, grabbed his usual broom, and was just starting to sweep when he heard the chimes on the door ring.

"Sorry, we're closed," he said, turning around.

There was nobody at the door. "Huh," said John, but when he turned back there was a face in front of him.

John jumped, his broom falling from his hands and clattering on the floor.

His visitor smiled, almost pleasantly. "Not very impressive, are you?"

"Wh-what? Excuse me, sir," John said, quite annoyed at this point, "I'm going to have to ask you to-"

"Do shut up," the man said, and suddenly John's voice was gone, and he was rooted to the spot.

"Mr. Watson, I hear you've been talking about me!" He grinned. "Not to say you've ever _met_ anyone so interesting as a Witch, Harry dear, but your drunk bragging makes both of us sound foolish. So I'll put a stop to it. Does that sound good?"

John shook his head frantically. _Anything this person has in mind is likely not a good idea, and for the love of_ everything _I'm not even Harry-_

"Ah, well. That's too bad." He waved his hand in a circle. "Just think of me as granting you an early retirement. Oh, and don't try to tell anyone- it won't work. Goodbye!" And with that, the man turned on his heel and walked out.

John's feet unstuck from the ground, and he fell, barely putting his hands out in front of him in time- and when he did, he saw they were wrinkled, like the hands of an old man-

"Oh," he said, sitting up, and damn if his voice wasn't time-worn, too.


	2. 2. in which John is visited again, and uses an umbrella as a weapon.

He sat for a while, looking at his reflection in the windows of the bakery. John wasn't exactly shocked, seeing what the wizard had said, but he wasn't pleased about it. _I need to_ do _something,_ he thought, and just then his shins began to complain, pressed against the floor as they were. Slowly, he stood up, and as the aching passed he walked out of the bakery and locked the door.

Thankfully, he didn't live far from his work, so he walked to his apartment, knowing both that nobody left on the street would recognize him and that his sister would be at a pub somewhere, rather than home. It took him a bit longer than he would have liked, but he supposed that was to be expected.

As he walked across the courtyard next to his building, there was a creaking from above him. Looking up, he saw his window was open, and the light on. _Now,_ thought John, _that's not as I left it._ He grabbed his umbrella from next to the door and checked the lock.

_Someone's been in here._

With his hand braced against the wall, John kicked the door open slightly. Light shone down from above the staircase. Dark as it got in this small town, any intruder would need a torch...

Holding his umbrella in front of him, John walked up the stairs, skipping the spots that he knew would creak under pressure. He got to his room, cursing himself for leaving his gun by his bed, and stood to the side of the door, pushing it open with the tip of his umbrella.

A voice echoed from inside the bedroom. "Oh, come in already. I heard you downstairs." The man in the room sounded bored.

_Bored,_ John thought. _There's a man in my house and he's_ bored.

"And the umbrella wouldn't do anything against an intruder anyway. Come, John." Now he seemed vaguely irritated.

John considered the situation. _There is a man in my house, and he knows I'm here. He sounds bored, he probably has my gun and he wants me to come in and... talk to him, I suppose._ He sighed. _Fuck it._

He stepped in, holding the umbrella out despite what had been said, and looked at the man who invaded his home. He was tall, certainly taller than John, with light eyes and rather unruly dark hair. He also looked surprised, his mouth slightly open.

Then John remembered the situation, and took a deep breath. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"

The man closed his mouth, then opened it again to speak. "Sherlock Holmes. I was waiting for John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes. Hm. John Watson, at your service," John said. "Why were you waiting in my room, rather than outside? Seems a bit off to me."

The man (Sherlock?) looked him up and down. "That's irrelevant. You aren't John Watson. Who are you?"

And suddenly John remembered. "Oh. I'm old."

"I'm sorry?"

John tried to speak. he really did, but no sound came from him. _I_ am _John Watson,_ he tried to say, _but I'm stuck in the body of an old man._

"Oh," said Sherlock. "You've got a curse on you. You _are_ John, aren't you?"

John nodded, rather shocked that it was so easy to figure out.

"Can't speak?"

John nodded again. "How?" he ventured, and was glad to hear his voice come out.

"Your shoes are too impractical for a man of your advanced age, you've walked farther than you should know from experience you can do without stressing yourself, and you're wearing the same clothes you did in the picture on your desk," Sherlock rattled off.

John's mouth snapped shut a few moments later, and then he laughed. "That was _brilliant!_ "

Sherlock looked surprised for a fraction of a second. "That's not normally what people say."

_Huh._ "What do they say?"

"Piss off," said Sherlock, and he grinned.

John laughed, surprised at how _not_ -ill-at-ease he felt.. "I believe I did the equivalent earlier, coming up here with the umbrella... What are you doing here?"

Sherlock smiled. "Well," said he, "I was here on the recommendation of a mutual acquaintance. You know Mike Stamford, I presume?"

"Yes," John said. The man was a good doctor, a better friend, and a terrible, terrible gossip. "And what exactly did he recommend me for?"

"He said you were _interesting_ , and that you were looking for a roommate, as I am."

John snorted, putting the pieces together. _What an odd man..._ "So you wanted to meet me, and see if I was really interesting. Breaking into my house seemed like a good idea to you?"

Sherlock nodded. "Best to see a man on his defenses before you move in with him."

John grinned. "Well, you succeeded at that, for a minute..." The solemness took over again, as he realized what had been implied. "But I don't think I'm what you're looking for, when I'm... like this."

"Au contraire, _John,_ " Sherlock said, stepping forward. "Would you be amenable to my studying your curse? I may be able to fix it."

John looked at his hands- or rather, an old man's- and back up. "Oh, God yes."


End file.
